Fallout 4 Chan
by masseylass
Summary: A series of cynical journal entries from our illustrious Sole Survivor. Total humor, terrible writing, 0% serious.
1. Chapter 1

**October 23, 2287**

Dear Diary, today, I woke up to get some toast, and a half hour later my husband was dead. I miss him dearly, even though his eyes were just a little, teensy bit far apart and his nose wasn't just right. We had a child together, Shaun. He is black, and presumably still alive. And presumably still black.

My robot is still alive, or as "alive" as a robot can be. Codsworth told me to go to Concord. I went to Concord and got shot a lot. Fuck you, Codsworth. I found a house. It's garbage. But at least there's a mattress and a ton of drugs here. Tomorrow, my life starts anew with some clingy dog I found in this horrible, horrible wasteland.

**October 24, 2287**

Half way through Concord, Dog started barking incessantly. It was as though he was saying, _I found something. _I thought it was pretty cool that Dog wanted to lead me to treasure. It was less cool when it ended up being two bottles of Nuka Cola. They were empty. Thanks, Dog.

Half way down the road, some idiot dressed like a renaissance cowboy started hootin' and hollerin' at me to help, so I did. I fought my way through a museum about tea and whatever "jackanapes" are. When I got to the top of the building, I realized he was black. "Are you my son?" I asked. He wasn't. But he _was _offended.

Long story short, I found a robot suit and fought a dinosaur, and now I'm back in Sanctuary with my not-son, shitty robot, and useless dog. FML.

**October 25, 2287**

What kind of name is Preston Garvey, and why am I running his errands? "Ooh, go to a settlement. Do map stuff. Blah blah blah." Man's got the personality of wet cardboard in an oil puddle.

Well, I never did find that settlement. What I did find was a garbage dump full of radioactive hamsters. I shot them to pieces and wouldn't ya know it, the guy living there thanked me. Who lives in a hamster dump? That guy, apparently. He seemed happy enough though.

Jesus Christ, I need to find civilization. To the city!

**October 26, 2287**

MISTAKES.

MISTAKES WERE MADE.

The city is _dangerous _these days, man! I probably should have taken the useless dog, or at least Harvey Garvey map-maker. I didn't though, because I'm even stupider than them!

Raiders shot at me. Some giant, green luchador chased me into an alley where _another _green luchador chased me with a **bomb **strapped to his wrist like it was a goddamn Apple watch. So then, I dove into the water because there was no way they'd chase me…right? WRONG. I had one green guy shooting at me from land, while Senor Fitbit charged across a bridge to chase me.

I swam and swam and swam until I couldn't swim anymore. As soon as I got out of the water, I realized I was sick as hell because rads are a thing now, and began staggering toward some buildings. I was met with three more green guys at my twelve, and three sad-yet-terrifying excuses for dogs at my six. I climbed up some stairs and prayed, and ate a frozen microwavable steak while I cried into the light of dawn.

**October 27, 2287**

Finally! A sign! "Goodneighbor." Well it sure sounded friendly enough. I walked through the door and was immediately offered insurance. "No thanks, I'm switching to Geico," I said probably. I don't remember. I was radsick and concussed and frankly the guy got stabbed so fast it didn't matter what I said to him.

The stabbee, however, was _very _memorable, especially in the face-area. It was like someone had left mashed potatoes out in the sun to harden just to see what happened, but they…I dunno…leatherfied? And yet, this guy had mad sex appeal. I needed that mashed potato and I needed him yesterday.

"Blah blah blah Goodneighbor, of the people, for the people," he said, I wasn't really listening. But I played it cool.

"Oh brother," I replied, trying to sound like less of a fanboy.

Mashed potato said, "I can already tell I'm gonna like you," and as of that moment I knew what my purpose was in life: I needed to boil that, mash that, fuck it in a stew. Hancock, you're mine.


	2. Chapter 2

**October 28, 2287**

Radsick, I went to the first place with a doctor, which was some kind of brain-brothel. The doctor offered me zero medical help. All she did was complain about the décor. I staggered into some guy's room – who was also a mashed potato but not as sexy as the revolutionary mashed potato – tripping balls so hard that all I could see was the Silver Shroud. Radsickness is a hell of a thing, because I slept on that guy's bed and I could _swear _there were a half dozen cardboard cutouts staring at me while I slept. I noped out of there in the morning.

Since it was already 7am, I went to the bar. My poor sense of direction, bottle of whiskey and I stumbled into some kind of VIP room where two Rambo cosplayers were smack talking some scrawny kid in a hat. Somehow, he managed to tell them off, which was actually kind of hot. I approached him. "HheeEEYYyyyy…" I said. Smooth. He glowered and said, "Look pal, if you're here preaching about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you've got…" Then, I sort of blacked out. I liked the way he got crinkles on the bridge of his nose when he got huffy. He was cute. He said some more stuff that I went along with, then he said, "Price is 250 caps, up front, no room for bargaining." _Oh, _I thought, _so that's his profession. _"Done," I said, and he said, "Alright, boss. Let's get out of here." He was already playing along. Good.

15 minutes later, I shut the door to our room at the Hotel Rexford and dropped my pants. The kid was _horrified. _After MacCready's hasty explanation, I realized I had hired myself a mercenary, not a…well, you get the picture. Honest mistake? Ugh. So drunk still. Time for sleeeep.

**October 29, 2287**

Getting laid in the apocalypse is hard. MacCready clearly isn't interested (especially after I got drunk and passed out for the rest of the day) so I looked for other options. There's the robot that identifies as a woman – mad respect – but assaultrons aren't my jam. Robobrains, maybe, but that's another story. There's some bald guy with shades pacing around the front entrance, but all he says is, "Hey." I'm sure he's irrelevant to the plot and I'll never see him again. Nobody here is bangable. The insurance guy at one point, but his corpse is still strewn about the ground like a discarded candy bar wrapper. I took his caps, his pants, and moved on.

Just as I was about to give up, a familiar, starchy voice came from above. It was Sexy Potato, of the people, _for _the people, and he was giving a speech about something called "synths." I approached him after the speech and he gave me a quest: check out the Pickman Gallery. Man, I love art! Why not? This could be fun.

**October 30, 2287**

I walked into that building an amateur appraiser, and left a scarred husk of a man.

_Let's look at art! Let's see if there's a Picasso! Maybe a Rembrandt! _NO! There was only blood, death, and some poor jerk hanging from the ceiling with a hook up his ass. The worst part? There was a lampshade over his head. The _actual _worst part? The lamp was turned on. Soooo WHERE DID PICKMAN INSTALL THE WIRING?!

I puked my way through some sewers while MacCready bitched the whole time. We came out into a room of raiders shooting at Pickman. I shot the raiders, chatted with Pickman, and learned he was a total creep. I felt insecure that he was a better artist than me, so I shot him, because "morals." MacCready disliked it.

Just as I was about to leave, I saw something on the ground. It was shiny and blue. I picked it up and something just…clicked inside of me. It was this cheap, $5 (er, 5 cap?) plastic bobblehead. Worthless. Absolutely worthless. And yet…I need – no, **crave **– more of them. What if…what if I can have a whole collection? What if I had dozens, _dozens _of them, decorating my house?! Well, I don't really have a house anymore, but I could just, I dunno, carry them? And look at them? They're just so…UGH FUCK I JUST NEED MORE OF THEM OKAY?

**October 31, 2287**

Bobbleheads are so important. They just are. I need more. So, if they're important, they're probably located in important places, right? Like that big green glowing place in the middle of Boston? Maybe, maybe not, but it seems like a good start.

MacCready and I made our way toward "Diamond City," as he called it. On the way there, an army of potatoes (not sexy ones like Mayor Spuds) crawled out from under a bus. Just as I was about to shoot, MacCready made this…noise. This heinous, throaty, _gross _noise, like, "HGGHHAAAUUGHHHH shaddup already!" He was cute, but just…no. After he shot them all for me, I sent him away into the ruins. I'm sure he'll be fine. Kid's resourceful, right?

I continued my bobblehead quest until I came out into a wide, open space guarded by umpires. Some crazy lady was screaming, something about mayors and "free speech," I don't know, I just wanted my dollies. "HEY," she said in a whisper that was somehow also a scream, "Youwannagetinside?! Do ya?!" I went, "Uhhhh" and before I could stop her, she made up some bogus story about how I was a merchant. She lied her way through the gate, screamed at a jolly mayor, and dragged me inside. There are pumpkins ** E. **Inside of a stadium? There's also a ramen noodle bot and a pastor? I think I'm still radsick because none of this makes any sense.

I'm sitting on Piper's couch right now. She's about to "interview" me. Nothing is the same in this world and I'm afraid "interview" means eat me alive. Send help.


End file.
